


Poltergeist

by rain_sleet_snow



Category: Primeval
Genre: (only hints/brief mentions), F/M, Families of Choice, Ghosts, M/M, past destructive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 10:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: Stephen sees dead people, which is sometimes concerning, and sometimes mildly inconvenient, and sometimes just plain weird.But so long as he doesn't stop the barbecue to hold an exorcism, Becker's okay with it.





	Poltergeist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



Becker had never previously met Lester's daughter, who seemed to streak through the anomaly project like a particularly fiery meteorite about once a year, leaving chaos in her wake. To be entirely fair to her, from the stories Stephen had passed on it was always involuntary, but Becker still found it a bit... mind-boggling. He'd also realised, based on the stories, that Liz was a bit of a mascot to half of his new command. Or at least a sort of favoured little sister: tricky, resilient, prone to getting in her retaliation first - and liked for all those qualities. He had learned about her at the same time he'd learned about all his men's spouses and families, picking up little bits of information and tucking them away to be remembered at key moments, but she stood out in the mind. Vivid.

It helped that she was James Lester's daughter, too. He had two good reasons to remember who she was.

"I haven't met half these people," Stephen said suddenly, after a peaceful trip down to Hereford unmarred by extraordinary traffic or an inconvenient manifestation of Stephen's gifts. (Becker hoped he did not lack compassion, but the last time Stephen had stopped to talk to a haunt who hadn't had a human conversation since the Battle of Towton, Becker had got so bored he'd fallen asleep in the car. And Stephen couldn't ignore _any_ of them, which Becker usually found admirable, but which was sometimes very frustrating.)

"Well, me neither," Becker said, locating a parking space. "We'll live."

Stephen's mouth twitched, and he looked away. Becker put the car in reverse.

Claire and Ditzy's house was a relatively new build, for which Becker was grateful; it minimised the chances that anyone had died on the premises, which maximised the chances of Stephen's getting through the barbecue. Stephen struggled to manage conversations with haunts and conversations with living beings at the same time, and was occasionally driven to drop everything and go in search of the materials for an exorcism, which generally confused the people he was meant to be socialising with as much as the nearest vicar. Stephen often did not explain himself very clearly, which Becker strongly suspected was why he preferred animals to humans; the former behaved predictably, and didn't ask for explanations. They also saw haunts as well as Stephen did, if not better.

Becker kept a list of the people he was supposed to meet running in his head as they walked down the road and over the driveway, which contained at least two more cars than was reasonable, and knocked at Claire and Ditzy's front door, which swung open immediately.

The blonde behind it was not on his mental list; too small and slim for Claire, too blonde for Cara, twenty years too young to be Mrs Preston, and too delicate for Liz Lester, with those fairy-princess good looks. When he glanced up and back at Stephen, Stephen looked as puzzled as he felt - although friendly and puzzled.

"Hi!" said the girl, in a bright voice. "You must be Stephen and Captain Becker. Everyone's in the garden, and we're only waiting for a few more people. Well, I say waiting." She had a sweet smile, too. "The barbecue's already on the go."

"Thanks," Becker said, allowing himself to be ushered into a hall that showed the paraphernalia of visitors already arrived, and Claire's daily life; a bag of things for a baby perched on top of a pile of marking, and assorted coats were piled on the banister of the stairs. (Claire was definitely a teacher, but what subject? Had he been told?) "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The blonde flushed. "Juliet. I wasn't supposed to be here, originally, I'm gatecrashing a little bit -"

"Rubbish," Lyle said affectionately, coming through from the kitchen and ruffling Juliet's hair. "You couldn't stay in London by yourself. They'll probably get your mother's plane off the ground in Sydney eventually."

"They'd better," Juliet retorted. "She's the one with the credit card."

Becker grinned as much as Lyle did, and Stephen almost laughed. Juliet smiled herself, and ducked past Stephen to the downstairs bathroom.

Becker raised his eyebrows at Lyle. "Anything on fire?"

"Only the barbecue," Lyle said cheerfully. "And Whitehall."

"Er," Stephen said.

"Lester's dealing with it," Lyle said. "And enjoying himself."

Becker realised the faint footsteps he'd heard upstairs were too light to be Ditzy's, and now that he concentrated on the voice on the edge of his hearing, the accent was wrong for Ditzy too. It was also getting closer; a door swung open upstairs, and James Lester's voice became clearly audible.

"- hesitate to call Christine's judgement into question, Minister." James Lester leaned over the upstairs banister, sounding as if he would have no trouble at all questioning Christine's judgement, whoever she was, and raised a hand at Becker and Stephen. Becker raised an answering hand, and registered the slight, smug smile hovering around Lester's mouth as the older man retreated. "However, if you recall... Of course. Of course."

The door upstairs swung shut.

Stephen cleared his throat. "Enjoying himself."

"A lot," Lyle said, unnecessarily. His own grin was a perfect counterpart to Lester's smile. "Excuse me, I need the bog."

Becker and Stephen shuffled out of the way in the narrow hall, and threaded their way through the kitchen (heaped with preparations for a barbecue which had clearly only just started) before eventually making their way out into the garden.

Most of the people there were clustered around the barbecue perched on a small patio recently stripped of weeds. Becker had been able to hear them from the kitchen, voices that had been an indistinct rumble of sound now clear, laughing and joking and loudly poking fun at Ditzy, who appeared to have set something on fire that probably ought not to be. Becker felt Stephen move a little closer to him, and halted step for long enough to find Stephen's hand without looking and squeeze tightly. There was an audible exhale, and then Stephen clutched briefly at his fingers and very deliberately let go. Becker glanced back, and saw that Stephen had pasted on the generic social face meant for dealing with strangers. According to Abby Maitland, Stephen had never been great at people, but matters had reached a new level after the summary destruction of his friendship with Nick Cutter. Becker hadn't known Stephen any other way, any more comfortable with introductions or strangers, any less wary, but occasionally some detail struck him and clarified exactly how much damage Helen Cutter was ultimately responsible for.

At least Becker knew he himself could get Stephen to smile and mean it.

"You'll be fine," he murmured, nudging Stephen's shoulder with his own. "You already know half of them."

When Stephen smiled back at him, the older man almost seemed relaxed.

Everyone else seemed to have taken on a carnival air without difficulty. Claire Bradley (at least, Becker was reasonably confident that was Claire) had kicked off her shoes and was sitting cross-legged on the garden table next to Lorraine Wickes, who was holding Blade's hand and gesturing neatly with a glass of wine in the other. Finn had separated from the group around the barbecue, presumably bored of baiting Ditzy, and was doing headers with a football on the slightly weedy patch of grass that made up the rest of the garden.

The only other people not around the barbecue were a very small girl - not much more than a baby, presumably Kermit's small daughter - and a teenager of perhaps fifteen or sixteen, tall for a girl, with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. The teenager was following the toddler patiently as the child wobbled around the garden, clearly waiting for the girl to stumble.

Liz Lester, Becker assumed, and almost started toward the pair as Finn misjudged his header and the ball spun through the air towards them.

"Hey - look," Stephen said urgently, but before he'd even got the second syllable or the rest of his sentence out the girl had caught the ball one-handed and thrown it back at Finn, hard enough to make him yelp as it whistled past his ear and tumbled harmlessly to earth in a flowerbed. Both Kermit and his wife - Cara, Becker remembered - had reacted as soon as Stephen called out, but seeing their daughter was in no danger from errant footballs or anything else, they subsided.

"Thanks, Liz," Cara called, but the teenager merely grinned and shook her head. Kermit was already taking the piss out of Finn, along with the assembled company.

Liz scooped up the toddler and took her back to her mother; she came over to Becker and Stephen and introduced herself along with everyone else as the pair of them were offered drinks and food and folded into the occasion. Sharp and quick, Becker thought, trying to build an impression of her the same way he was building one of everyone else, outdoorsy and devoted to her girlfriend - and definitely acting older than her chronological age.

None of which explained why Stephen kept looking over her shoulder when he talked to her.

"There was someone next to her," Stephen explained, in the car on the way home. "A haunt."

"Were you weighing up an exorcism?" Becker said idly, pulling onto the motorway. "That would've been awkward."

"No," Stephen said quickly. "I just... couldn't see who was there."

Becker blinked. "Is that normal?"

"No," Stephen said.

"Does it matter?"

There was a long, reluctant pause. "Probably not," Stephen said slowly.

"But," Becker said, wishing - as he sometimes did - that Stephen would every now and again give away a word or two without a prolonged struggle. "I heard a definite but in that sentence."

"She was on her own in the kitchen," Stephen said slowly, "I was on my way back from the toilet - and I heard her say to someone, 'stop it, you're freaking him out'."

"There was no-one else there."

"No. No-one living." Stephen hesitated. "And then I heard someone laugh."

"Not her."

"No." Stephen looked down at his hands. "It wasn't mean. Just like someone was playing a prank."

Becker absorbed this. "Maybe she's like you."

"Maybe," Stephen said, but it was obvious he wasn't convinced.

Becker left the sunset behind them, and they drove east, into the falling night.


End file.
